


Out Of Action

by ever_increasing_circles



Category: British Comedian RPF, Mock the Week RPF
Genre: Injury, M/M, The Edinburgh Festival, britcom_love_in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_increasing_circles/pseuds/ever_increasing_circles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has an injured foot, Seann has determination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Of Action

**Author's Note:**

> Any similarity between the fictional versions of the people portrayed here and the actual people is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person). ...None of it is true, except for the part where Addison did knacker his foot during the 2010 Edinburgh Festival. But that's by the by.

Chris closed his eyes and leant his head back against the armrest of the sofa, holding his mobile phone between two fingers and somewhere in the vicinity of both his ear and his mouth. "... I _know_ it sounds like an excuse..."

The voice on the other end sounded more than a little... inebriated? Intoxicated? Chris didn't even want to begin to think what the cause of this was - alcohol, he felt, would be the _least_ of his problems. "Fuckin' right it does--! You want me to come over there? 'Cause I'll come over there. And I'll find you perfectly fine, with no excuse."

Chris sat with his leg along the length of the sofa, and the two crutches on the floor in easy reach to grab at a moment's notice (although actually getting up from the sofa would be a far more lengthy process). "Do what you like, as I fully expect you will. Doesn't change the truth, Walsh--!... No, really. Holed up in here on the sofa, two crutches, poorly foot - that's the proper medical term, by the way. Had to go and see the make-well-again people, and they looked at it, and fully diagnosed it as being properly poorly."

"So did you--... did you break it, or what?" Chris was slightly surprised (and a little touched, which came to him as the greater surprise) to detect a note of actual concern in Seann's voice. "What about your show?"

"It must go on~. No, no, it's not broken. It's poorly, as I told you. A poorly foot. Poor poorly little foot."

"I'm coming over."

"--... wait, what?"

"Like I said, I'm comin' over."

"What, because you're the magical foot doctor and there's no ill you can't cure?" (At that point, the other end of the line went dead.) "Seann? Seann--..." (Chris sighed, heavily.)

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up in this situation. He took it as read that there was a certain amount of debauchery in Edinburgh, it wasn't hard to notice (or sometimes easy to ignore), but not only was it quite a while since his last Edinburgh show, but also he'd just never particularly been _into_ that. There were _certain comedians_ , of course. Certain comedians, certain substances, certain places in the city you just didn't go to after dark - and that was fine. Chris was perfectly fine with that, with all of it. Not only was that not something he was part of, but he knew enough people who were also not a part of it to feel like he could ignore it quite comfortably, to feel he could forget about it and barely have to think to remember that it was even a thing in the first place.

And then, Seann. Seann, who was _part of that_ and _that sort of person_ and _did that sort of thing_. It felt like one of those inexplicable meetings; Edinburgh was Edinburgh and you'd meet anybody at all over the course of the month so long as you walked around enough and it wasn't as if he wasn't aware of Seann as a comedian, but... they'd met, somehow? Seann had approached him. There wasn't anything strange about that - in Edinburgh during August there was that general sort of camaraderie between comedians, and not having yet met was no particular barrier to this. Nothing wrong with that or any of it, but for _how_ Seann looked at him. That cocky smile and a tilt of the head as if observing, deciding, _checkin' you out, Addison_. And Seann wanted him to go _out_ at night, go drinking with _them_ and Chris only had the lightest of notions of who _they_ even were, and turning Seann down had become a rather exhausting habit of his Fringe experience.

Even to think of it, he wasn't sure how this had happened; it wasn't that he disliked Seann, just that that sort of thing wasn't for him, that was all. And he'd said this plenty of times, explained it at length, and Seann would smile and nod and ask the next night as if nothing had happened at all. Chris didn't understand the attraction (unless it _was_ attraction, in which case... he still didn't understand the attraction) and couldn't really work out why Seann just _kept trying_. He had drinking buddies out across the city, surely? _That_ lot. Maybe it was like a bet, or a dare? _Try and get Addison out on the town, just once. C'mon, give it a go_. If that were the case, though, were there not other comedians who might be easier or better targets...? Maybe Seann himself didn't even know why he kept at it. (Chris wasn't sure which possible explanation he disliked the least.)

Chris found his phone buzzing again, but this time with a text message rather than a call.

" _where r u staying?_ "

Chris pressed the phone to his lips, considering. Here was a chance to nip this in the bud; if he didn't reply then likely Seann would continue to badger him, but there was no rule nor reason that said that Chris _had_ to give him the specified information. That would be fine, and he would be able to spend his evening in peace.

" _did u get my msg? i dont know where u r._ "

...He could almost hear the confused tone of voice, see Seann's expression caught between confusion and rejection--

"Oh, for fuck's _sake_." (Chris swore loudly at nothing in particular as he replied to the message.)

 

\--

 

"Wowww, it's really fucked, isn't it?"

Seann stood next to the sofa, bent over slightly to stare at Chris's leg as if it were an interesting specimen at the zoo. Chris leant his head back on one slightly-clenched fist, "'Poorly', I think I said."

"It _is_ fucked though, isn't it? Man... what did you do to it?"

Chris realised there little way of escaping the topic when Seann was stood _right there_ ; he glanced to the side, slightly embarrassed. "... I was jumping down some stairs."

"You--... what?"

"Tried to take too many at once. Went a bit wrong. And thus," he indicated towards his foot.

This seemed to delight Seann somehow. "Rock 'n' roll--!" He moved back off towards one of the other chairs, rearranging the carrier bags he'd brought with him on the floor between them. The clunking and clinking noises these bags made when moved left Chris to little doubt as to their contents and thus the driving purpose of Seann's visit seemed glaringly obvious, but he couldn't help asking, just to be sure. Just to see.

"... So why are you here, Seann?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... I mean that exactly, you want me to repeat it? Because I will, if you want me to. Why are you here, Seann?"

"If you can't come to the party, then the party can come to you--!"

"You've not messaged twenty friends of yours to come crash the joint, have you? Because, you know, this isn't _actually_ my house, so--"

"No, no, don't worry. Unless you want me to?" The cheeky grin that followed at least said to Chris that he _hadn't_ done that already, but suggested the alarming possibility that he still _could_.

"... It's fine, thanks. I was planning on a quiet night in. And I'm guessing you were planning on a loud night out, so we're quite the mismatch, you and I."

"Guess you really have fucked that foot of yours, though. Damn. Now I'm gonna feel bad for doubting you...! Sorry."

"N-no, it's... it's fine. I... I guess I can see why you'd think that." Chris leant back against the sofa, as much as he could. "Now that you're here, though... I'm not going anywhere, and I'm guessing you're not either, so long as I'm here. So answer me this: why _are_ you here? I mean, why do you--... why do you keep asking? You don't have to be here, you _really_ don't. I'm sure there are a lot of bars and pubs across the city tonight sorely missing your patronage."

"Wanted to see if you were okay." Again, there was just _something_ about his tone of voice that made Chris feel a certain twinge of fondness, and he wasn't sure what _that_ was.

"What, while thinking I'd lie to you about a fucked-up foot?"

"'Poorly', you said. ...Yeah, well. If you were lying then you'd have been lying and if you'd not - as you're not - you'd be sittin' there with a knackered foot. That's sad, isn't it? Middle of August, in the middle of the Festival, and you're stuck up in here not able to do anything. Don't you just wanna get out there?!... Though even before the foot you didn't really want to, so--"

"I fear I'm a bit old for that sort of thing, now."

"Fuck off."

"I'm thirty-seven."

"... Fuck _off_ \--!"

"How old d'you think I was?"

"Not thirty-seven."

"Well, there you go. You learn something new every day."

"Jesus. If we were younger, it'd be really creepy."

Chris narrowed his eyes slightly. "What would?"

"Like, if we were both ten years younger, it'd basically be illegal. Whoa."

"I'm starting to wish I hadn't started the sentence containing this question, but: what would be?"

"Me fancyin' you. I mean, not _fancyin'_ , that wouldn't be illegal, nothing wrong with fancying I guess, if you don't do anything about it, but--"

"You 'fancy' me, then?"

Seann's face changed to the sort of expression that implied that this should have been taken as read. "Well, _yeah_ , wasn't I being obvious?"

"... I did wonder if it was that. Not that that helps me understand it any better, mind you. Although I suppose it fits some things into place. ...So all this about going out and about getting drunk and whatever, it's all been an elaborate plan to get me drunk and pull me into bed?"

"No, not--... not like _that_ , I mean--... I just thought we could, you know, go out. Hang. Chill. Mooch. ...Okay, _maybe_ get smashed. But it's fun, yeah?"

"It's not particularly _my_ idea of fun, I will admit."

Seann leant forward on the chair, netting his fingers together and fixing Chris with an awfully _intent_ sort of a gaze. "Okay then. What's _your_ idea of fun?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in."

"No? Try me. I'm open to new suggestions. But look--. You want to stay in, 'cause of your foot? Okay, we can do that. I brought supplies and everything!" From the enthusiastic look on his face, Chris had a feeling that Seann wouldn't be shifted all too easily. His foot gave him the excuse to not move for the time being, but at the same time, it also made him something of a captive audience to Seann's likely-unwieldy suggestions. For all of this, however, Chris still hoped that his hesitation towards all of this didn't register too easily on his face - Seann had, at the very least, come over with some sort of concern as well as copious amounts of alcohol, and that was still _something_. Seann was holding up one of the bags as if to indicate his previous point; he placed it back down onto the floor, still smiling. "We can drink and watch television. That sound good to you? Maybe alcohol'll numb the pain, or something."

"It sounds like, at the very least, _some sort_ of plan, yes." Chris couldn't help but smile in return, slightly relieved. "This sort of night in is more my pace."

"... I told you I fancied you."

This didn't seem to follow on naturally from the previous parts of the conversation. Chris glanced up as he reached for the remote control. "... Yeeees?"

"I don't know if I meant to do that."

"Nothing wrong with being straightforward."

"... Do you mind?"

(Chris worried that he might be at risk of developing a weakness to the look in Seann's eyes as he asked that question.) "Do you habitually go around telling men you fancy them, or is this some August-specific Fringe-sexual thing? Either way," Chris shrugged slightly. "It's not really up to me what you feel. ...So long as it doesn't involve dragging me out to pubs on the other side of the city in the middle of the night." (Again, Chris worried, because the _look_ in Seann's eyes hadn't changed. If you were going to reject somebody then, again, wasn't being straightforward the best thing for it? Perhaps it'd hurt, but not as much as dragging something out would. At the same time, however, outright _rejection_ seemed an awfully heavy punishment...) "I can't really say anything either way. You've got a thing for me? Okay. Give me some time to think about it. ...Maybe if we spend a little more time together, first."

This merest hint seemed enough to please Seann for the time being - his expression brightened and he leant back in his chair, seeming quite relieved. "Awesome!" He reached back down to the bags - it seemed that he'd brought more than just alcohol. On bringing one of the plastic boxes out of the bag, it seemed as if he'd come armed and ready with DVDs, too.

"You've really come prepared, haven't you?"

He was already out of the chair and scouting around the room, "Of course! Where's the DVD player?"

Chris closed his eyes, thinking that he _could_ tell Seann where it was, but also that it wouldn't take too much to figure it connected to, one would imagine, the television. Perhaps this wouldn't be too bad after all...? (He sensed movement a little too close to his liking, all of a sudden. He opened his eyes; Seann had one hand against the back of the sofa and was, without any shadow of a doubt, leaning over where Chris lay. Reaching for the remote control, but also leaning over him in a fairly obvious manner. Chris simply stared up at him.) "... Did you find it?"

"Right, yes, no, sorry, I--" Chris picked up one of the crutches as Seann walked away to locate the DVD player once more, then leaning over to give him a jab in the stomach. " _Ow_ \--"

"Don't forget, I've got these...! No taking advantage of people who can't easily get off sofas, now. I can quite easily keep you at crutch-length if I want to, you know. Respect your elders and your betters--!"

"Right, right..." Chris held the crutch up as Seann walked around the room, taking hold of it as if it were some kind of firearm. He kept the end trained on Seann as he placed the DVD in the tray, as the copyright notice scrolled across the television screen, as he walked back over and sat on the seat opposite the sofa once more. Chris continued to hold it there for a few moments more, for as long as he could before Seann smiled and he laughed, because he couldn't help it. And when the DVD menu came up on the television, Chris realised that he knew the film, and that he didn't dislike it. _Could be worse_.

Seann held the remote control before pressing play, "... You don't want me to leave, or anything?"

"What? Where did that come from? I thought you were all set on this - DVDs and booze and everything..."

"Well, you've hurt your foot, and it needs rest, and--"

"I'm not planning on leaving this sofa anytime soon. ...It's fine, Seann. Really. DVDs and drinking? There are worse ways to spend an evening in at the Edinburgh Festival. I don't want to get all old-man-shaking-his-stick at you or anything," (he waved one crutch for effect,) "but I _have_ been coming here since '97, you know. I've got some stories."

Seann lingered over the play button, "I'm going to end up hearing them, aren't I?"

"Mayyybe. If you want."

This caused a smirk, "Go on, then." _Clearly expecting something salacious_. Chris relaxed back against the sofa as he thought back over his past years at the Festival, picking out the most likely tales to keep Seann interested.

(There were _definitely_ worse ways in which to spend an evening.)


End file.
